


suddenly i'm holding the world in my arms

by hellynz, riptheh



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/F, Fluff, Gen, Thrissy, hug pollen, missy - Freeform, more characters will be tagged as they appear, yall knew this was coming
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-16
Updated: 2019-12-31
Packaged: 2021-01-31 14:46:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21447931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hellynz/pseuds/hellynz, https://archiveofourown.org/users/riptheh/pseuds/riptheh
Summary: Smut gets all the good tropes. Let's talk about hug pollen.
Relationships: Thirteenth Doctor/Missy, Thirteenth Doctor/Yasmin Khan
Comments: 28
Kudos: 180





	1. i.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [13stardisfam](https://archiveofourown.org/users/13stardisfam/gifts).

> LISTEN I WILL NOT UNDERSELL THE FACT THAT THIS IS THE GREATEST IDEA THAT HAS EVER BEEN HAD
> 
> Also it's for Emily because she's amazing

Alarms made her nervous, whether or not she decided to show that to her friends. So she turned them off. Settled on a blinking button instead. Much less worry inducing, much less obvious to anyone else.

That’s why the Doctor was pretending everything was fine and she just wanted to take a look when they landed on Isoreth IV, a dozen lights flashing at her. Everything was fine, the readings were normal, she was just having a look.

Outside the TARDIS, she was met with a wall of green.

She hadn’t been entirely sure what to expect, despite her enthusiasm to the fam. That’s why she made them hang back, after all. But whatever she'd thought would meet her, this certainly wasn’t it.

It was beautiful, green vines and trees and grass as far as she could see. Lush and magnificent, and she turned slowly, taking it all in, her boots sliding in damp grass and mud. But she didn’t have time to look far at all, because suddenly something was shifting in front of her, a slit was opening in one of the vines, and then-

Her mouth, that had been opened wide in wonder, took the worst of it as yellow filled the air, and she stumbled back against the thankfully closed TARDIS doors, almost choking. A blast of something, or spores or pollen, or maybe something worse, something poisonous. She already felt a bit off, there was yellow dust in her eyes-

She stumbled back into the TARDIS, coughing, and slammed the door shut, making sure nothing in the air followed her, and staggered backwards.

“Well, that certainly wasn’t what I thought would be there,” she rasped, rubbing at her eyes and almost tripping over a step up towards the console.

Yaz took her arm. “Are you okay?” she asked, her voice quick and a little frantic.

The Doctor went to nod, glancing over at her. Yaz had one hand on her forearm, one lifted in the air towards her, reaching out to steady her or to catch her if she needed. Heat was radiating off of her; humans were always so much warmer than the Doctor, and of course she was used to it, but she just felt so chilly, so exposed, and Yaz looked _ warm. _ Suddenly, all the Doctor wanted to do was to wiggle her way between Yaz’s strong arms and nestle into her. It tingled on her scalp, the idea of embracing Yaz, pressing her face against her.

Alarm bells went off in the back of her mind, only distinguishable from the actual psychic alarm the TARDIS would normally give off by the fact that she could hear her ship chuckling at her. _ What? _

“Peachy!” she gasped, whirling away. “Though, I’m a bit- hmm. Is it cold in here?”

Every step she took away from Yaz squeezed her hearts inside her chest, shivers run up and down her spine. She cleared her throat, wondering if maybe it hadn’t been a dust but a spray of some liquid, was she just soaking wet? She cleared her throat again and, with a growing horror, realized there were almost tears in her eyes.

“You don’t look peachy, Doc. You look like you’re gonna fall over,” Graham said, and she started. He was much closer than she realized, had managed to move all the way to stand by her side without her noticing- had she lost a chunk of time?

She whirled again, desperate, because where was-

Yaz. She was only about three feet away and the Doctor gasped and then grinned, moved to lean into her, to wrap her arms around Yaz’s waist and bury her face into long brown hair, to soak up her warmth and her smell. She’d never wanted anything more in the world than to curl up with her forever.

She froze, her arms open and grasping, when she processed the confusion in Yaz’s eyes.

“Oh! Yes. I mean, no, I’m not gonna fall over, I’m fine,” the Doctor said, mind split in three, rattling around in her brain, a bit looking for an excuse, another bit trying to figure out what was going on, one last bit just panicking and yearning and aching to be held by her 19 year old human best friend.

She squeezed her eyes shut and groaned, trying to think. Probably would be best to put some distance between herself and Yaz, because clearly something was up. Something was twisting itself into her mind, filling her with a desire, but it wasn’t a sexual one, not even a hunger and not like adrenaline. She just wanted to be pressed up against Yaz, to have her arms around her, holding her in place, holding her to solid ground, safe and secure.

She swallowed painfully as she felt herself go unsteady, sway over. Throwing out an arm caught her against the console as her thoughts began to muddle. _ Definitely need to get away. _

But Yaz, oh, Yaz, worried and kind and helpful Yaz. She stepped even closer and reached for one of the Doctor’s hands.

How wonderful it would feel, how warm and soft and intimate, to let their fingers link together. The Doctor could feel it now, one hand gone all tingly, anticipating, longing for it. Her arm was practically numb as she raised it again, her brain useless and loose as pudding in her head, as Yaz smiled tentatively and brushed their fingers together, time moving too slowly, the room too hot but the Doctor’s skin so cold, all she needed was right there, just-

“Why’re you covered in pollen?” Ryan asked from behind her, and she jerked back into reality.

“I think maybe something happened to me,” she rasped, and, with much more effort than should have been needed, turned away and stumbled the last few steps over to her favorite monitor, yanking it into place in front of her. “Where are we, more importantly what was that, but maybe most importantly of all, what time is it, what season, it looked like this came from a plant-”

The whole world tilted in front of her, but not like nausea, not like she was about to pass out. It tilted towards Yaz.

“I might need to lie down,” she said, surprised to hear her own words murmured and slurred out in the air. It was unlike her to feel this ill, even more unlike her to admit it, and her friends knew that, and _ blast their kindness _. Immediately they were all at her side again and she flinched, pulled her arms in towards her body because one of those presences was Yaz and she wasn’t sure how much longer she could keep herself from throwing her arms around the girl’s neck. From pressing their whole bodies together, letting her head rest on her shoulder, maybe Yaz would even hug her back, hold her, make her warm again-

She stumbled away from them. “I’m fine, really, or I will be, just-” her mouth was dry, her eyes aching, she felt like she needed to sneeze. One last ray of light through the clouds forming in her brain reminded her of stories she’d known, rumors she’d heard. Very suddenly, the dots connected. She’d heard of this before, never seen it herself but- she realized what it was.

“Oh. Oh, no,” she whispered, trying to force focus into her gaze but unable to, her head pounding to the tune of _ Yaz, Yaz, Yaz, Yaz- _

“I’m putting myself in quarantine. Don’t follow me, I won’t let you in.” She didn’t even glance back to see how they reacted, just fled the room, taking the stairs two at a time and moving as fast as she could on unsteady legs.

“But Doctor, wait!”

She didn’t wait. She stumbled through the corridors and heard her ship helping her, felt her shifting hallways and erasing doors. And she sent her a little, thankful prayer, because she was not sure she contained in her the strength to not turn around, to not sprint back and throw herself at Yaz.

Because every footstep away from Yaz _ hurt _ , every thud of her feet on the ground shook through her bones and made her teeth chatter, her jaw ache. When her med bay finally came into view she stumbled, caught herself on the doorway and groaned, the floor tilting underneath her again, urging her _ back, get back, find Yaz, get those wonderful arms around you, she’ll be so warm and soft and- _

With a grunt, she threw the door open and slammed it behind her, flickering quickly through the commands to seal it, and then she slumped back, her legs giving out completely as she slid to the floor.

She felt hot and achey, feverish, but still so cold, so desperate, and all because of-

She twisted her torso against the persistent ache, pressing her face into her knee to groan through it as a wave of almost irresistible urge to run back to the console room came over her. If she could just get back to Yaz, she'd-

"Can you confirm, love?" She gasped, wincing as she rolled forward and forced herself back to her feet, clinging to the nearest counter and dragging herself up. "Do a quick scan for me?"

A monitor immediately flashed to life, showing her exactly the fungal infection she'd suspected. And the TARDIS was still chuckling at her in the back of her brain, but it was darkened with worry now, tinged with an urge.

_ Go back to her. _

"I'm not giving in, are you crazy?" She said, and all humor fled from their connection. "Because that's violating, of course, I'm not going to just force her into that."

The monitor blinked, and now it was listing symptoms, side effects, the way the spores could warp her mind, the pain she'd be in. Paragraphs of suffering, and a worried pang in her brain, a more insistent _ go _ ** _back_ **.

There were much worse strains. She considered herself lucky, actually, because some versions were deadly if you didn’t act on them, and some forced much more lewd acts than- than just-

“Basically, I’m gonna feel like hell until I hug Yaz?” she asked the room, wilting, aching for it but knowing she would never let it happen.

She sighed. “Keep the quarantine up. Should wear off within... awhile. Few hours to a- a day.”

Concern again, chiming at her, telling her how badly she'd regret her words soon.

"That's why you're not just keeping them out, you're keeping me in."

Protests, fluttering in the back of her brain, but she shoved them away, gave what she hoped was a comforting pat to the countertop with shaking hands. "This is how it has to be. Don't worry too much about me, I'll be fine. Just-"

She winced as the ship pushed forward one last jolt of protest. Shoved into her brain the feeling of arms around her, holding her, squeezing firm but gentle, hands rubbing her back or running through her hair. The longing was so terrible it sent her knees weak and she stumbled, had to grab the counter again for balance, and she glared up at the ceiling.

"That's not fair, and it's not going to convince me either."

She got no response that time and she sighed, closed her sore eyes and let her head fall to hang. Everything thudded around her, reality too icy and dark and empty and her body hot and yearning, uncontained.

Freezing cold, shivering, aching, she laid on a cot, got into the fetal position, and wrapped her own arms around her torso. A poor substitution for the comfort she was craving. As if she’d ever been any comfort to herself at all.

\--

She didn't know how long she spent curled up on her side. It could have been hours, or days, she spent shivering and miserable. Time flittered by, untethered, cloudy. She couldn’t quite tell the difference between herself and the air; she felt stretched, nebulous. It was terrifying. She gripped the sides of the cot as if it might hold her down, keep her from floating away.

And the whole time she could only think of Yaz. Nothing else dared to cross her mind. Sometimes she thought she could see her, out of the corner of her eyes, a flash of warm brown eyes, her smile. The Doctor jerked towards her each time, desperate, longing for her, but she was never there.

Until there was a sound in the room other than her own harsh breathing.

Something knocked, and then hissed open. Through the fogginess in her throbbing head, the Doctor considered that it might be the door. She couldn’t quite remember why she didn’t want that to be the truth.

She looked up and- oh, she must be really far gone now, because she was fully hallucinating. Or just dreaming. Because Yaz was standing over her, looking down at her with scared eyes and saying something, her lips moving, but the Doctor couldn't hear her over the rush of blood in her ears. She gasped and yanked herself more upright, let a silly grin slide over her face and her arms fly up and out, needing, _ needing _ Yaz, and Yaz must have seen the need because she stepped forward tentatively, in between the Doctor's arms, and then they were hugging.

The Doctor sighed, relief flooding her veins as Yaz's arms came tentatively up and around her back. Just the lightest hug, and she started to settle. The terrible weightlessness faded as she pulled Yaz closer, felt arms go tighter around her, grounding her, squeezing and then shifting as Yaz sat beside her, running one hand along the side of the Doctors head to lead her to rest against her shoulder.

It felt like rubbing into a sore muscle. Everything about her stung and ached, and where Yaz held her it was almost worse but it was _ so _much better at the same time. The Doctor tried to say something, to beg Yaz to hug her even tighter, probably, but language seemed to have failed her, and the TARDIS translator too, because all she could manage was a few ringing syllables in her mother tongue, nothing Yaz would ever be able to interpret. Yet somehow she must have, because she shifted them again and leaned to tuck the Doctor's head underneath her chin and to wrap her arms fully around her shoulders, press their torsos together. The Doctor sighed again, burrowing deeper, her body singing.

The dream was speaking to her too, she thought, but she couldn't quite make out any words. Everything was still swimming too much, too loose around her, she was still pulling herself back into her body. And she was settling, finally, feeling more like herself again. Even if it was a little slow going.

But as the cotton in her head began to clear, she started to realize. Yaz was far too solid to be a dream.

“Um...” the Doctor murmured, raising her face from where she’d plastered it into soft skin. "Yaz?”

"Don't you dare think you can kick me out just because you can speak again," came the response, immediate, firm. "You're shaking, and you have a fever, and the TARDIS says it isn't contagious."

The Doctor's throat went tight. "But-"

She felt Yaz shake her head above her. "Not to mention you were practically sobbing with joy when you saw me walk in."

Her face was flushing again, but not feverish this time. Shame bubbled in the back of her mouth.

"Just- fine, stay, but let me go," she muttered, her teeth gritted.

Yaz stilled, her grip loosening just the slightest bit. "I- I mean, are you sure? You seemed like you were enjoying it."

She had been, of course she had been. She still was. But clarity was bursting in her brain, the light of a train rounding a corner and she was tied to the tracks, and with it came thick, cloying embarrassment. The insistence that she would be fine. Because she _ would _ be. She was thousands of years old, she had loved and lost more people than she could count, she had suffered through more than a dozen deaths.

She didn't need a hug. With every ounce of energy she'd gained and with a whimper she'd deny, the Doctor shoved herself up and out of Yaz's grasp.

"Can you at least tell me what's wrong with you?" Yaz asked, and the Doctor groaned as her head started thudding again, just this much distance too much, already overwhelming.

_ Go back, go back, go back _

"It's nothing, I-" she stumbled as she tried to move to the other side of the room, everything spinning, tilting again backwards, towards Yaz, but she couldn't let herself give in. She compromised, dropping to her knees with a grunt.

But Yaz was near her again, she could practically feel her radiating heat and comfort and solidity before she even placed a hand on the Doctor's back. "It's not nothing. You can barely stand. Here-"

She’d kneeled down next to her, and her arms were trying to slide around the Doctor's shoulders, to help her stand and back to the bed, and the Doctor couldn't help but lean into them, her brain going all foggy again, her eyes screwed shut. She whined, just a little, twitching, everything logical begging her to pull away but the rest of her not wanting to pull away at all.

"I don't understand," Yaz said, her voice soft just next to her ear, and the Doctor blinked up into brown eyes that were filled with a film of tears.

The Doctor’s chest ached, her head tilting and wobbling and her body so _ cold _ as she shifted backwards just enough to get a better look. "Yaz- are you crying?"

Yaz took a deep breath in through her nose and looked at the ceiling, shaking her head. She said nothing.

“Have I upset you?” the Doctor asked, and she was really going to lose it now, because not only was her entire being aching to be held, but Yaz was _crying_, and it was her fault, she’d caused it somehow, probably with her ridiculous needs or her stupid explanations-

_ That _ got a response. Yaz’s mouth dropped open and she looked over at the Doctor, incredulous. Then she shook her head, scowling. "You’re ridiculous.”

The Doctor twitched, shaking her head, eyes wide. “What...”

Yaz snorted, and true anger fought with fear and worry on her face. “You’re sick, or in pain or something, and you won’t let me help. It’s a bit frustrating.”

"I-" 

“I just want to help,” Yaz said, clearing her throat. “And so do the boys, but I convinced them to hang back, I knew it would be hard enough to get you to let just one of us in. I thought if it was just me, I could get you to tell me what was wrong. Thought you trusted me.”

It was so _ hard _, trying to think straight and to defend herself when her whole body was still thrumming, still desperate for Yaz’s embrace. But she tried. “I do trust you.” 

She did, she trusted Yaz so much, beyond the fog of need, beyond the tilting in her brain. She was right. The Doctor wouldn’t have let anyone else in at all.

“Then why won’t you tell me?”

The TARDIS again, at the back of her mind. Pushing, though gently this time, the image of how nice it would feel to give in.

The Doctor sighed. The idea of weakness, of admitting, was painful. But perhaps not as painful as suffering here, sick and aching, and Yaz crying next to her.

"It's... well... It doesn't have a name in English. Doesn't translate well, either, it's pretty rare, lots of strains, but...” she trailed off, glancing over. Yaz sat, one eyebrow raised, but her eyes patient. Still a little too shiny.

“Basically, this particular strain makes any organic form experience an increased desire for physical connection with another,” she let out in a rush. “There are weirder strains, strains you really don’t want to mess with, but this one just makes you crave... makes you want to be held, essentially, makes you feel all floaty if you aren’t held, and I used to not think that sounded so bad when I’d only heard of it, didn’t get what the big deal was, but I can tell you now from personal experience that it is extremely-”

Yaz was staring at her. But she didn’t look upset anymore. “Go on,” she said, the corners of her mouth twitching.

The Doctor looked away. "Essentially, if you really want to boil it down to the basics, an affected, or infected I suppose, person needs physical contact, usually as much of it as possible, and it tends to... it means that I need... I need a..." she stammered off, blushing furiously, her head pounding.

Yaz was shifting strangely next to her. When the Doctor glanced over, she was laughing, shoulders shaking, and it turned out the expression that had been dawning on her face was mirth.

"What?"

"You really can be daft sometimes," Yaz said, wiping a tear from her eye. “Watching you trying to explain that you need someone to hug you, I wish I had that on film.”

The Doctor, mouth hanging open, cheeks on fire, began to sputter out her own defense. But then Yaz leaned over and threw her arms around her, grinning, still laughing a bit.

She yelped, argument dying on her lips, her voice caught between frustration and anger and relief as her head stopped swimming, Yaz tucking herself underneath the Doctor's chin and pulling her tight and close.

"You know, if you wanted a hug, you just had to ask."

“Don’t patronize me, I’m over three thousand years old,” the Doctor grumbled, but it was muffled into Yaz’s hair, shaking as she couldn’t hold back a shudder of relief. 

“Yeah, well,” Yaz said, and there was nothing stiff between them anymore. No resistance, nothing awkward or hesitant as they settled together, held up by each others weight. “You’ve spent three thousand years being stubborn. Still not enough to change my mind.”

The Doctor let a wry grin spread across her faith, relishing in the warmth and the comfort, and she settled back against the wall. Maybe giving in wasn’t so bad, sometimes. Even if the TARDIS was chiming in the back of her mind, smug. She could stand the embarrassment. It really wasn’t so bad, in the end.


	2. hug the police

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> happy dw day happy trailer day happy hug day

Day one back at their lives in Sheffield is always typical. 

They fly away with the Doctor for the weekend, and their two days turns into weeks or months. Nobody really decides how long it will take. Yaz isn’t sure the Doctor even knows half the time. And, on the other hand, no one really knows how long the Doctor is gone during their weeks. Occasionally no time has passed at all, the same smudge on her cheek that they saw appear on Sunday still there the next Friday as she whirls back into their lives, jumping right forward.

Other times her hair is longer, her eyes darker or more distant. Other times it has been months since she saw them. Sometimes she has an injury and they have to force her to sit down for one second. Or a new habit, some tick she hadn’t had before that very suddenly appears in between every action. And sometimes she shows up to them in the wrong order, talking about something that hasn’t happened yet or clueless about some major event they all want to discuss.

But regardless of how time passes for each individual member of the fam, their weeks spent at home are always the same bland, boring beige. At least for Yaz.

Monday is pointless, other than to induce suffering. She drags herself back into the routine of her job, the repetitive dullness of parking dispute, patrol the park, speed traps. Even the more exciting bits, being sent to interview a victim or to diffuse a traffic stop, feel boring to her. It all thuds along in her chest, mundane and human and pointless after the epic things the Doctor shows her on the weekends.

Tuesday is a little bit better just because she’s forced herself back into the rhythm. She isn’t scared stiff when her mum bangs on her door, jolting her awake, so different from the soothing hum of the running TARDIS that she always hears upon rousing on the ship. She manages to dress properly and shower in their tiny bathroom, missing her own on the TARDIS, longing for her empty, not shared space.

Most of all, longing for the Doctor. Her company, her voice, the way she's so excited to talk and explain but never condescending. Or at least not usually condescending.

But Yaz does it, she drags herself to work, and she forces herself to find joy in what she'd used to love doing. Being able to comfort an upset child or being assigned to something interesting for once. Even if the most interesting things from before are still boring now.

Wednesday is usually a neutral day. Nothing exciting, but halfway through the week, halfway back to life with the Doctor. She feels like she can do it by Wednesday, feels like it isn't so bad to return to her regular life. Most Wednesdays pass by quicker than the two days before them, and she ends them still a bit bored, but with less existential dread, less _dear God, is this what the rest of my life is going to look like?_

This particular Wednesday is much more exciting than most.

The Doctor appears at her desk about an hour into Yaz’s 6 a.m. shift. 

Yaz is staring down at a report she’d written the day before, eyes blurring, reading the same sentence over and over, trying to make sure she’d filled it out properly but her brain just not settling back into place yet, when-

“Hiya, Yaz!”

She jerks up, and yes, it is the Doctor, standing right in front of her desk. Voice and face so out of place in this setting, but such a relief, and Yaz grins up at her before the situation fully settles into her chest.

“What are you doing here?” she blurts, glancing around quickly. Most of her colleagues have moved out of the main area of their office and onto the streets to tackle whatever it was they had to do for the day. A few mill about, but no one is paying any attention. 

“Oh, nothing,” the Doctor says, wrinkling her nose and glancing around in a way that tells Yaz there is very definitely something up. “Just, you know. Checking in. What’re you working on?” she asks, stepping quickly around the back of Yaz’s chair to look down at the papers in front of her, glancing at the computer screen.

Yaz tilts the monitor away, knowing the Doctor has already read the whole thing four times over. “Hang on, that’s classified, you can’t just be reading stuff- if you really want to know I’ll tell you, but later, not when I’m on my shift.” She tugs the papers away from the Doctor’s reaching hands and stands.

“Sorry, I didn’t think about that,” the Doctor says, chagrined. “But I swear, I won’t say a word. Don’t kick me out.”

Yaz melts a bit at the true regret on her face, and at the weird way the Doctor was standing so close, her arms twitching at her sides. “It’s okay, it’s not you. I just can’t have my superiors seeing me sharing work information with some strange lady.” She was certainly acting a bit strange. She kept twitching as if she wanted to run, at Yaz or away from her she couldn’t quite tell.

The Doctor’s face wrinkles again. “Some strange la- oh, me! Oh, I’m not that strange, I can convince them-”

Yaz laughed, pressing one hand to her face to muffle it. “I really think you should wait for me back at the TARDIS, Doctor.” At another look around an officer nearby was glancing over, looking the Doctor up and down. "Go on, I'll meet you later, we can do something fun."

"Yeah, yeah, sorry, I-" the Doctor says, her face falling. "Should've jumped ahead again, just got a bit impatient." She was still standing way too close, much closer than she usually would be, arms still shaking.

Yaz sits back and looks over her properly for the first time. "Are you okay?"

She’s disheveled, Yaz realizes, crumpled and out of place in a way she usually manages to avoid without effort. Her hair is frizzy and mussed, her sleeves shoved haphazardly up to her elbows. When she blinks at Yaz it's too slowly, until she forces her eyes wide open, plasters a grin across her face. It seems to dawn on her for the first time where they are as she glances about, pressing her lips together.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine, 6 out of 10, don't even worry about me. I'll just see you on Saturday if you want?" The Doctor sways towards Yaz and then lurches back, stumbling a bit over her own feet. "Sorry to interrupt, I really am, don’t know what I was thinking."

"Well, hang on, we could still do something tonight-" Yaz begins, her own disappointment leaking out. Why did she even argue, why would she give up the opportunity to actually do something fun? But the Doctor is already shaking her head, backing up.

"Human schedules are very important, Yaz, and if we go on a trip tonight it'll mess up the whole rest of your week! I shouldn't have bothered you, and I'll see you this weekend, yeah?"  
She was gone before Yaz could answer, talking to herself about the importance of regularity in linear time.

Yaz spends a mind-numbing shift filling out paperwork and assisting with walk in reports. Or at least she does it in theory. She listens and she takes notes and files things away, but she is on autopilot the whole time, her mind still thinking about the Doctor, thinking about that "six out of ten" rating. By the end of the day, she’s only managed about a third of the work she usually gets done.

She still hasn't been able to focus on anything else when she leaves that afternoon, uniform ditched for her fluffy white coat, fidgeting with one braid. Maybe she should go over to Graham's, see what the boys think of the Doctor's weirdness.

She shoots Ryan a text on her way out, asking what he’s up to. He’s already started typing a response when she hears that same out of place voice behind her.

"Not to be weird, really trying hard not to be weird here, still a bit socially awkward, but I just-"

Yaz turns, and the Doctor is coming at her with open arms, wrapping her in a hug and settling her face down into the crook of her neck, Yaz's arms pinned and awkward between them.

"Where did you come from?" Yaz gasps, wiggling her arms out to hug back before her brain has really processed anything. "Have you been out here all day?"

"I didn't want to bother you again," the Doctor says, her voice muffled and tickling Yaz's neck. "But I felt weird leaving without hugging you, I don't know why, I'm not usually a hugger, but people do that to say goodbye, don't they? Felt rude. Or stupid. Or just kind of cold.”

"Uh-" Yaz stammers out, heat rushing to her face. "Yeah, I mean, sometimes... So you have been here all day?"

"It hasn't been that long."

"It's been hours," Yaz protests, leaning back and moving her hands to the Doctor's shoulders, forcing her back a few inches to get a look at her. "Are you sure you're alright?"

The Doctor grins, and it's a little too loose, her pupils a little too big. "I'm fine! I just wanted to hug my best friend."

But the smile drops very suddenly and the Doctor's face turns a bit pink, not something Yaz is used to. The Doctor never feels shame. She steps back and stumbles over the curb. "Sorry! I said I was gonna jump to Saturday and I am, I swear, don't know what came over me. I'll see you then."

Yaz, yet again, does not even have time to protest. The Doctor spins on her heel and takes off down the street, almost at a jog, head down and hands in her pockets and a frown on her face.

Her phone vibrates in her hand.

_bout to head into the shop. u need something?_

Yaz decides against talking to the boys.

She can’t keep talking herself in and out of how weird the Doctor was acting. On the one hand, it wasn’t really that strange. The Doctor had been incredibly accurate with showing up on Saturdays, but the time of day varied wildly, and Yaz hadn’t forgotten how many attempts it had taken them to get home the first time. And how was she supposed to explain it to the guys, anyway? 

_The Doctor waited outside my work for six hours so that she could hug me goodbye. What do you think of that?_

She blushes at the thought, can practically hear Ryan’s teasing and see Graham’s kind, knowing, infuriating smile.

Instead, Yaz spends a regular night at home, bored. At a glance as she walks inside she can see the TARDIS is really missing from its usual spot near the curb, no blue corner sticking out of place. She sighs, disappointment and a little bit of fear settling into her throat. With something so clearly up she’d been almost hoping that the Doctor would have stuck around, or would have been unable to pilot away. But she supposes she has to wait for the end of the week to figure it out.

The next morning proves her wrong, leaning on the counter and staring into space, picking at the leftovers of her father’s less-disastrous-than-usual dinner, when she hears the familiar sound of the ship landing.

She’s out the door by the time the sound fades away, torn between excitement and worry, still pulling on her coat, uniform forgotten. A cold fear has wrapped itself around her heart. She’s thrilled that the Doctor came back, but was it on purpose? If the ship takes off again before she can get there, will it ever come back? But the Doctor is already bursting out of the TARDIS by the time Yaz rounds the corner.

“Oh!” they both gasp, the Doctor jerking back like she's been slapped and then reeling forward, grabbing Yaz by the shoulders.

"Yaz! Exactly the human I was looking for," she gasps, stumbling a bit, and Yaz has to throw her arms out to keep them both upright. “Listen, I know, I’m sorry, I couldn’t get the TARDIS to land where I- when-”

She trails off, stammering, and Yaz takes the chance to break in.

"No offense, Doctor, but you look awful," she says. "Where have you been, what happened?"

"Nowhere, nothing, I- I just- I just want-," the Doctor says, but her face is pale and she looks even messier than before. Yaz doesn't get a good glance, though, before the Doctor leaps at her, colliding with an audible grunt and sending them both stumbling backwards. Her arms reach around Yaz's waist under her coat and fumble for purchase, her whole body shuddering. 

"Wh- Doctor?" Yaz bursts out, struggling to keep them upright.

"I just think something happened, maybe, got infected with something, I don't know, and I can't- I can't leave, I can't focus well enough to get the TARDIS to jump forward the right amount, I can't think straight," she says, her flood of words slowing into a mumble as she settles her face into Yaz's jacket. "I need...”

She sighs, her shoulders slumping, and Yaz finds herself holding up both of their weight. “I needed this.”

“I- okay,” Yaz says, her face burning, trying to get a better grip. “Do you... do you feel better now?”

The Doctor hums an affirmative, vibrating against Yaz’s chest.

If there is a reflective surface nearby, Yaz desperately does not want to see it. Her face is so hot she must almost be on fire, and she really doesn’t want to know what expression she’s making.

“Okay. Good, then?” she asks, leaning back.

The Doctor gasps and squeezes her even tighter. “No! Don’t leave.” She clamps her arms together behind Yaz’s back like a vice. “Not yet, don’t leave yet, I don’t want-”

“Oh, this is... long term?” Yaz asks, bewildered, her brain racing. “What is this, Doctor? What happened?”

“I don’t know,” she moans, muffled again, pressed back into Yaz. “And it's really frustrating, I know everything. But I just really don’t want to leave you.”

Warmth blooms in Yaz’s chest but she tries to push it back down, even as she sighs and settles her cheek against the top of the Doctor’s head. “I have work, I have to be there in half an hour.”

The Doctor whines like a kicked puppy, somehow pressing them even closer together. “Take me with you.”

Yaz starts to scoff. As much as she wants to, she can’t wander around Sheffield in uniform with the Doctor hanging off of her. 

A tinkling of beeps that sounds almost like laughing sounds off in front of her, and she glares into the TARDIS. “What do you have to say about all this?”

The door swings shut and latches with a loud clank. The Doctor doesn’t even react, too busy playing with the end of Yaz’s braid behind her back.

Yaz sighs. “I think I have an idea.”

The Doctor’s happy hum banishes the last of her willpower, and Yaz turns them both towards work.

———

“-so I was wondering if it would be okay for me to use the old supply closet, just for a bit,” Yaz finishes, standing in front of her supervisor and trying very hard not to seem awkward or suspicious. “I’ll of course be ready to go in a second if you need me.”

He gives her a once over, brows furrowed. “Yasmin Khan asking me to let her finish her paperwork in a back room instead of begging for a new assignment? You sure you didn’t hit your head on the way in this morning?”

She flushes and forces a grin. “Yeah, guess I got a bit too eager. I really need the quiet to help me catch up. Won’t happen again.”

With one final glance he nods and stands. “Well, I appreciate the honesty and it’s been a slow day so far. I’ll yell if I need you, but otherwise I expect you fully caught up before the end of your shift, and I expect you to manage your own time better from now on. Don’t let it happen again.”

Annoyance pricks the back of her mind for just a moment and she almost has to literally bite her tongue as she nodded and turned away. Now her days in Sheffield were likely to be even more boring if she couldn’t leap at every opportunity to do something new. 

Although, glancing at the enormous pile of paperwork she is actually very behind on, this was most likely something she would have had to do eventually. She really isn’t very good at the “prompt filling out and filing of paperwork” aspect of her job.

A stack of folders tucked under one arm, she makes her way to the old supply closet in the back of the precinct, where one dim lamp and an old desk wait for her.

And, of course, the Doctor is there as well.

“You’re back!” she squeals when Yaz opens the door, flying out of the chair she’d been rolling around the tiny space in and throwing her arms open. 

Yaz rolls her eyes, but can’t hide the smile. “I told you to stay out of sight till I got back- hang on!” she says, dodging as the Doctor leaps at her. “Let me put this down, I do actually have a lot of work to get through.”

She places the pile on one side of the desk, grimacing at the cloud of dust that puffs into the air, and settles back into the chair. Raising an eyebrow, she looks up.

The Doctor is practically vibrating, her arms lifted just a bit from her sides, her eyes wide and huge and sad. “Are... are you ready?” she asks, her voice soft and tentative and very unlike herself.

Yaz almost wants to tease her. But those big, sad eyes are too much. “Yeah, get over here.”

She slams into Yaz’s lap without any grace at all, knocking the wind out of both of them as she clambers about, a giant dog who thinks she’s still a puppy. She settles back sideways, her legs thrown over one of the arms of the chair and her arms wrapped around Yaz’s neck.

“Is this okay?” the Doctor asks, laying her head on yaz’s shoulder and curling into her, eyelids fluttering with relief. 

Yaz winces, shifting, and reaches forward, just manages to grab a folder. She flicks it open with one hand and lets the other wander up to the Doctor’s head, running her fingers through her hair. “I can manage.”

“You sure you won’t get in trouble?”

“The door sticks, we’ll hear anyone trying to come in. You just hide under the desk till they leave.”

The Doctor hums again, content, and relaxes, eyes closing. 

One of Yaz’s legs is going to go numb, she can already tell. And once she gets through a certain number of folders she won’t be able to reach the stack anymore.

But, the Doctor warm and soft and heavy in her arms, that’s fine with her. 


	3. Chapter 3

It was one of those fights. Slapdash, down to their bare knuckles and whatever they could scavenge, which wasn’t much, seeing as they were in a museum. Closed, silent, and the only slightly weapony looking things in reached appeared to be engraved stones, which Missy simply would not use on principle.

The Doctor was her mortal enemy, after all. She wasn’t going to take her out by banging an ugly _rock_ over her head.

“You won’t get away, Missy!” the Doctor called. She was sliding between the exhibits, ducking just in case Missy had some trick up her sleeve. Which, unfortunately, she didn’t.

“Oh dear, what are you going to do?” Missy called, as she pressed her back against the wall, inching her way into the next exhibit. That one looked more promising. “_Talk_ me to death?”

She heard a responding huff, and couldn’t help a twinge of satisfaction from it. The Doctor had always known how to drone. Hopefully she could shut this one up soon. The Doctor poked her head out, and Missy caught the telltale whine of a screwdriver in her direction. Too late—she ducked, and came up in the adjoining room. Perfect.

There were rows of weapons here, and she barely had time to take them all in, a shark’s grin spreading across her face, before she heard a growl of frustration, and the sound of footsteps.

Showtime, then. Looked like the Doctor was ready to cut things short.

Missy lunged for the nearest exhibit, a long spindly looking ray gun propped upon a stand, and yanked it from its case, spinning around just as the Doctor skidded through the entrance.

She was too late. Missy had the safety off and the gun up just as the Doctor raised her sonic screwdriver, and she only had time to see her eyes widen before a ray of energy raced across the room and sunk right into her chest.

The screwdriver fell from her hand. The Doctor staggered, stumbling across the floor, and after a moment Missy lowered the gun to watch, amused. It hadn’t been set to kill, then. How disappointing.

But the gun had clearly done something, because the Doctor was stumbling and weaving like a drunk, her face pale as death, and while it was in one way pleasing to watch, it was also rather boring.

“Doctor, if you’re going to die, _do_ go about it quickly,” she said. At her words the Doctor’s head jerked up, and her eyes landed upon Missy. They were unfocused, the pupils dilated.

For the first time, Missy felt a flicker of unease.

“Missy,” the Doctor breathed. “I—“

“Yes, I get it, you’re in terrible pain,” Missy sighed. “It’s dreadfully dull.”

She hoisted the gun and turned, meaning to place it back on the stand—bloody useless thing, all the good it had done her—when her eye caught the small plaque mounted underneath.

_Physicality enhancer: a rather useless weapon created by the Harsi several centuries ago, meant to disable enemies by increasing their need for nonsexual physical contact. Contact with the weapon isn’t permanent, but is said to have a particularly strong effect._

“Effect...” Missy whispered. “But that means...”

That was when the Doctor collided with her, with such a thump as to send an echo throughout the entire exhibit. Missy stumbled sideways, then righted herself and turned, a snarl already upon her face.

“Oh get off me, you useless—“ But it did no good. The Doctor’s hands wound around her waist, scrabbled needily against her back as her cheek pressed against her shoulder, her hair brushing underneath her chin. Her eyes were round, her lips pressed into a trembling line, like a child denied a favorite toy.

It was pathetic.

“Doctor, get off me,” Missy growled. The Doctor only responded by burrowing deeper into her side, her chin turning to press into the crook of her neck. Briefly, Missy reconsidered the ‘banging her in the head with a rock’ plan, only to discard it because she _couldn’t bloody move._

“I’m going to _murder_ you,” she uttered in a low voice, with the kind of tone that had sent many a being running. The Doctor just sighed happily into her neck and weaseled her way in closer, like a starfish glued to the side of a rock. Only, Missy decided, far less pleasant.

“Ugh,” she groaned, “You bloody dumb thing! Look at you—“ She worked her hand in under the Doctor’s chin and forced her head up, so that they were looking eye-to-eye— “You’re utterly doped, you don’t even understand what’s happening—“

The Doctor only gazed at her loopily with wide, blown pupils and a stupid smile upon her face, as if she’d just received the best gift in the world. As if she was never going to move.

Missy wasn’t going to have that.

Even if, a small part of her piped up, this was the only way the Doctor would ever deign to touch her.

“Ugh!” With all the strength she could muster, Missy shoved her at arm’s length, ignoring the way the Doctor’s hands scrabbled at her lapels. It was pathetic, she thought, watching a Time Lord cling to another, like a babe to a mother.

And the Doctor was warm. Oh, that wasn’t technically true—they were both roughly the same temperature—but she felt warm, thanks to her coat and the pollen messing with her physiology. It was enough to make Missy hesitate—or no, not hesitate. Missy wasn’t hesitating. She was _reevaluating_. Reviewing the situation to find the best way to escape.

There wasn’t one. Oh, she could kill the Doctor, but it just wouldn’t be _satisfying_ like this, especially with the little whimpers she made every time Missy tried half heartedly to pull away. It was embarrassing to watch, certainly, but it was also, Missy felt, embarrassing on the Doctor’s part, who definitely wasn’t in control of her facilities. Sooner or later, surely, the Doctor would come back to her senses and—oh, Missy would relish the look on her face. Especially once she realized just whose arms she was in. It would be _delicious_.

So maybe that was why, when the Doctor made a small sound and wiggled close, Missy let her. And why she only sighed when the Doctor burrowed her face in her neck, tickling Missy’s nose with her hair.

It was for the greater good, she reminded herself. Or rather, for the greater victory. Because the Doctor may be making a fool of Missy, but she was making an absolute imbecile of herself. And for that, Missy would always stick around.

No matter how close she had to be.


	4. origins

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, this is a repost of our original fic-dump placed hug pollen nonsense. Here it is compiled together like it should've been in the first place bc when have we ever done anything separately

This wasn’t the Doctor. 

Yaz was sure of it. Something had changed in those spare moments that she had set outside the TARDIS.

“Just to check!” she’d called, one foot already out the door. “Readings are a bit funny, or maybe I’m just not reading ‘em right.”

“Oh, you mean like Montgomery, Alabama?” Ryan said.

“Technically, we were in Montgomery,” Yaz pointed out. Ryan just shrugged.

“Only a moment!” the Doctor had called, and then she’d popped out, the door had slammed shut behind her, and they were all left staring after her, for one incredibly long minute.

And now...this.

“Doctor—” Yaz said, and tried without success to push her away. Over the Doctor’s shoulder, she cast Ryan and Graham a panicky glance. The pair simply responded with a shrug.

Yaz shot them both a glare, then shifted her gaze to the Doctor. It was a little hard, at such close proximity. Because the Doctor had managed, somehow, to wrap herself around Yaz with the tightness of a boa constrictor, which might have been amusing—or even welcomed—if it weren’t so...odd.

“Doctor,” Yaz said for the upteenth time. “Could we just—talk, for a second? Maybe I could ask you a question or two?”

It was her best police voice, and it seemed to work—or at least, the Doctor responded, her head lifting up to meet Yaz’s gaze. So close was she, that her hair, mussed about her head, tickled Yaz’s cheek.

“Something the matter?” she said, with a half grin that told Yaz immediately that she wasn’t all there. And indeed, it only took a look to confirm: the Doctor’s pupils were blown wide, her smile goofy. And Yaz had no idea why.

“Doctor, I think something happened to you,” she said. The Doctor just shrugged and, before Yaz could react, nestled her head once more in the nook between collarbone and shoulder.

“No—wait!” With some difficulty, and studiously tuning out the boys’ snickers, she forced the Doctor at arm’s length. “Doctor, something’s happened to you, and we —” This was directed at Graham and Ryan, who exchanged a wide-eyed look before immediately leaping into action— “Need to figure out what it is!”

“But—” The Doctor sagged abruptly in her arms, looking so woefully downtrodden that Yaz nearly crumbled. Nearly. “Yaz, I just want—”

And her hands came up once more, wrapping around Yaz’s arms and then inching her closer until, before Yaz could properly figure out how to respond, they were within half a foot of each other, so close she could make out every speck in the Doctor’s hazel eyes.

Then, without warning, the Doctor collapsed into her arms with a little hmmphI that might have been cute if it weren’t—if it weren’t—

Well, it was cute. But that didn’t mean Yaz was going to let it bother her.

“You’re blushing, Yaz,” Ryan told her as he sidled up behind the Doctor, Graham on his heels.

“Shut up!” Yaz shot back, with a little extra venom to prove that he was not, in fact, right. “Can you just—get her off me?”

Not that she particularly minded. In fact, it was rather nice—the Doctor wasn’t a known hugger. But at the same time, it was very odd, and totally out of the ordinary, which meant that Yaz wanted to get to the bottom of it, now .

“As if we could,” Graham grumbled, but he too came up beside Ryan, and together they dug their hands under her armpits. “Right, son—on three. One, two—”

“Three,” Ryan grunted, and together, they pulled.

The Doctor might as well have been an octopus for the way she clung.

“No,” she said, as slowly, they began to pry her away. “Graham, Ryan, I don’t—”

“Sorry, Doc,” Ryan said as, with one final pull, they peeled her off of Yaz, sending her stumbling into their waiting hands.

“No!” the Doctor cried, and immediately lunged forward, only for Graham and Ryan to pull her back. “But, Yaz—!”

“I’m sorry, Doctor,” she told her honestly, and watched the Doctor’s face crumple. Inside, her own heart crumpled.

It wasn’t that she didn’t mind a hug. It was just that they had to get to the bottom of this. Because it was frankly a little disturbing.

And maybe more than a little endearing. The thought rose in her head, and she immediately stuffed it away.

“Uh, Yaz?”

Yaz turned to Ryan, who, with both hands full, pointed his chin towards her coat. 

“You’ve got gold dust all over you. From the Doctor, it looks like.”

“I—what?” Yaz looked down, only to see that he was right. Her coat was a mess of gold du—no, not dust. It looked more like— 

“Pollen!” she gasped, as she ran a hand over her lapel and came away with a finger full. “Ryan, this must be what’s affecting the Doctor!”

“You really think?” Ryan asked, then grimaced and tightened his hold as the Doctor whined and made another lunge for Yaz. 

“Why don’t you give it a scan?” Graham chimed in. When Yaz’s head shot up in confusion, he gestured towards the console. “The Doctor showed me once. See that capsule there? Plug in any substance, you’ll get a result. With our luck though, it’ll probably be in alien, or something.”

Yaz looked up at the console, chewing her lip. “You think it’ll work?”

“I think—” He broke off as the Doctor once again bolted, and tightened his arms around her. “Oi, just give it a try! I doubt we can hold her forever.”

“Oh—yeah,” Yaz said hastily, and stepped forward. She swiped her finger through the capsule, watched it slide shut, and then took a step back, a worried crease in her brow.

Immediately, light flashed within the capsule. When it disappeared, so had the pollen, but the monitor just to the right winked on, and iterations of data began to scroll. Yaz watched, half torn between interest and—when she glanced toward the Doctor—worry.

It didn’t take long for results to flash across the screen—mercifully in English. Yaz stepped forward, and scanned the data, eyes widening with each line.

“Well, what is it?” Ryan called after a long, restless moment.

Yaz stepped back, then shook her head and turned to face them.

“It’s not dangerous,” she said. Her gaze ran over the Doctor, worried but no longe edged with urgency. “Apparently it’s a pollen that--intensifies? A need for physical contact. TARDIS says the person affected latches on to the first person they see, and—” She broke off, shrugged.

“And that was you,” Ryan completed. Yaz hesitated, then, with a slight flush, nodded. “Any idea if we can make it stop.

Yaz shook her head. “You can’t. You just have to wait. Usually a few hours, ‘ccording to the TARDIS.”

“Well, that’s fine,” Graham grumbled. “Just dandy. So, can we let go of her now? Or do you need your space bubble?”

“I—” Again, Yaz hesitated. Her eyes ran over the Doctor, who was reaching to her uselessly, eyes wide and desperate. 

She didn’t mind. Might as well admit that to herself. She didn’t mind at all.

“I’m fine,” she said. “You can let her go.”

Graham heaved a sigh of relief. “Thank god. Here you go, then. Ready, Ryan?”

Ryan nodded and, as one, they took a step back.

The result was instantaneous. The Doctor, already straining to break their grip, stumbled forward at the sudden freedom, then rushed Yaz. They collided with an oomphI And before Yaz knew it, the Doctor’s arms were wrapped tight around her, her head buried in her neck.

“Hi, Yaz,” she said, her voice muffled into her collarbone. Yaz just laughed.

“Hi, Doctor,” she said. Then, ignoring the knowing look Ryan was shooting her, she carefully slid her arms around the Doctor’s back, and resigned herself to staying there for the next few hours.

Though, if truth be told, it was anything but a punishment.

—————

Yaz puffed blonde hair out of her face for the millionth time that afternoon, shifting up onto her toes to reach for the microwave above the stove but keep one arm tucked, secure, around the Doctor’s body pressed against hers.

It was dinner time, she was hungry. But she wasn’t about to try to cook something with the Doctor clinging to her like this. So she settled for popcorn, instead.

She settled back onto flat feet and let her chin rest on the crown of the Doctor’s head. The Doctor sighed, soft and happy, from where her face was pressed into Yaz’s neck, and Yaz couldn’t help but smile, bringing up her other arm to wrap around as well.

She didn’t mind the situation much. Didn’t mind at all, if she was perfectly honest. Sure, it was awkward, shuffling along the corridors with the Doctor pressed to her side or her back, arms clamped around her waist like her life depended on it. And she’d managed to weasel her way back into a proper hug as Yaz waited for the popcorn to finish, tucking herself into every nook of Yaz’s body so they were about as pressed together as they possibly could be, her arms inside Yaz’s leather coat and squeezing gently into the back of her jumper. 

It wasn’t a problem in and of itself, that is. If the Doctor wanted a hug, she’d give her a hug. She even let herself get bold, running one hand to smooth down mussed hair, rubbing easy circles on the Doctor’s back with her other. It earned her another sigh, this one too soft for her to have noticed if she hadn’t been listening for it, and she smirked to herself, warmth bubbling in her chest. The Doctor, who was so physically aloof, who’d only once or twice laid a hand on Yaz’s back, taken her hand once to drag her through a mirror, so desperate for a hug.

The problem, of course, came from the fact that she was, essentially, drugged. Definitely not in a clear state of mind, if drugged wasn’t the right way to put it, her words slow and slurred and her eyes unfocused when Yaz managed to actually look at her. And Yaz was there, fully unaffected. And enjoying it way too much.

It’d be one thing, if she was neutral to the situation, just helping out a friend who’d been knocked in the face with some physicality-craving pollen. Just letting her cling till it passed through her system and then they could move on. 

If Yaz wasn’t burning alive from the inside out with the littlest crush she’d been trying to extinguish for months.

The Doctor wasn’t quite warm against her, but still, her whole body was on fire, tingling with joy wherever they touched. And even though she’d seemed to be growing progressively heavier, more and more slumped against her, Yaz didn’t mind at all. She’d pay to stay standing there, feeling the Doctor’s back rise and fall under her arms with easy, even breathing, smelling her hair. But she banished the thought. The Doctor was _drugged_. Yaz couldn’t enjoy the situation too much, that would be undeniably wrong. But it was also, undeniably, adorable. And endearing. And maybe a dream situation.

The microwave beeped and pulled her out of her own head, and she moved a reluctant arm from around the Doctor’s body to grab it.

She shifted her grip and tried to take a step away. “If we’re gonna be cuddling, might as well go watch a-” she started, only to stumble, the Doctor not moving with her at all, just staying rooted to the spot but with her arms still tight around Yaz. They stood farther apart for only a few seconds, Yaz teetering on the edge of unbalance, until the Doctor inhaled sharply and jolted forward, closing the inches between them and nestling her face back into Yaz’s neck.

“You okay there?” Yaz asked, leaning back, trying to get a look at her.

“Mhmm,” was the only answer she got.

“Okay, well, I’m gonna start walking now if you wanna come with me,” Yaz said, teasing, but the Doctor whined with real worry and tightened her grip. Yaz sighed. “I won’t leave you behind. C’mon. Let’s go watch a movie or something.”

A five minute walk through the TARDIS only had Yaz more worried. She still wasn't 100% confident in her navigation of the labyrinthian halls, and the Doctor was, of course, no help this time. But as she would hesitate at a turn, or maybe double back as she changed her mind of what direction they should head, the Doctor’s stumbling became more and more obvious, till Yaz was half carrying her down the halls.

They finally made it to the media room, and the Doctor just barely raised her head as Yaz flicked on a few harsh lights, depositing them both onto the couch.

“Too bright,” she muttered, voice muffled into Yaz’s shoulder as she shifted over so that she was draped against Yaz’s side, legs up on the couch behind her.

Yaz couldn’t help but snort at her. “Are you falling asleep, is that what’s going on?”

The “no,” came even more muffled this time, petulant like a child.

Yaz leaned back and reached over, took the Doctor’s chin and tilted her face away from her shoulder and up towards the light. The Doctor’s head lolled a bit to the side and she smiled up at her, dazed. Her pupils were blown, still, huge and dark and taking up most of the hazel of her eyes, and her gaze was even foggier between slow blinks.

“The TARDIS said this was supposed to wear off in a few hours, not get worse,” Yaz said, reluctant to let the warmth in her heart give way to anxiety but feeling it twist there anyway.

“‘m not getting worse,” the Doctor murmured, though she was still tilting her head down and towards Yaz's neck, eyes sliding closed. "Think I'm almost myself again."

She collapsed forward again, slumping, body going boneless against her, but her grip around Yaz’s waist was as sure as ever.

Yaz frowned. "Still don’t like it, though." She shifted again, trying to get some more space between them, but to no avail. The Doctor’s clinginess was determined, despite any mind fog that may have been developing.

"Don’t worry about me, I’ll be fine," the Doctor sighed, shifting around to press her face back into her favorite spot in Yaz's neck, breath soft and maddening against her pulse. “Always fine. Been through much worse than some hug disease.”

They settled deeper into the couch together, the Doctor’s eyes still closed and Yaz trying to focus on the show she chose at random and flicked on. But she couldn’t quite concentrate. The Doctor dozed off maybe ten minutes in, her head sliding to rest against the couch, mouth open just a bit and neck exposed. In total sleep, her grip on Yaz finally released a bit.

Yaz felt the looseness like a loss of armor. Bare and naked, exposed to the world again. It seemed stupid to not have reveled in it more. 

Because now that the Doctor was loosening in sleep, Yaz felt like the one who’d been hit with some weird, alien spray. She craved the tightness around her core, the way the Doctor had reached for her and moved with her, so desperately, wanting nothing but to be pressed together. This would never happen again, she was sure of it, the Doctor would wake up embarrassed and shake it off and pretend nothing had changed. And Yaz had wasted half of the time she had to savor it feeling bad about savoring it too much.

There were about a million times that Yaz wished she could have hugged the Doctor. It was her aloofness, clashing with the way her eyes could shine puppy-sad out of the darkness. They lit up a room, settled in her lined face, under soft blonde hair.

Just as Yaz was moving her hand to stroke through the Doctor's hair, she took a deep breath, shifted against her and groaned, hazel eyes flickering open. 

"You alright down there?" Yaz asked, letting her voice stay low and soft. Letting, after just a moments hesitation, her hand continue its path, running through. She was sweating a bit, just at the temples. She looked pale.

"Bit headachey," the Doctor murmured, and, blessedly, tightened her grip on Yaz again. "I think it might actually be fading, finally."

Back to reality. Back to glances and smiles and occasional hands on shoulders or backs, but, mostly, distance. “Maybe you should take a proper nap, try to sleep it off,” Yaz said, wishful, desperate to stay, desperate to not sound like she was desperate to stay.

“Maybe I should get off of you,” the Doctor said, pressing her voice into Yaz’s shoulder again, not moving up to the crook of her neck this time. “You’ve got to be annoyed by now, me latched onto you like this. I can probably leave.”

She didn’t, though. Her breathing had gone a bit shallow, and Yaz thought she could feel her heartbeats thudding harder in her chest. She wondered if it was the Doctor’s body waking itself up, releasing itself from the chemical and coming back to life. Or maybe it was something a bit softer.

“You can stay,” Yaz said, the words slipping from her with the lightest breath, barely audible, barely daring to make themselves heard. “If it makes you more comfortable.”

Shallow breaths. Fingers in hair. A flash back to a hug for her mum, but not one for Yaz, never until today.

“If you don’t mind,” the Doctor said, just as quiet, just as reluctant to hear her own words. And she settled a bit. Moved her body so she was even more, somehow, draped over Yaz, practically in her lap, arms wrapped all the way around her waist and back again a bit. 

Heart fluttering in her chest, Yaz couldn’t help but grin. “Don’t mind at all.”


End file.
